


No Armor, No Shield

by crackdkettle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (you don't have to squint that hard), Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash If You Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackdkettle/pseuds/crackdkettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony invites Steve to visit the completely revamped Stark Tower. For one evening there's nothing between them: no armor, no shield. Just them and a past that never was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Armor, No Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Iron Man 3 and Captain America: Winter Soldier, closer to CA:WS. Tony is very much with Pepper. That just isn't what this is about.

He doesn’t leave the picture up on purpose.

It’s not like he spends much time preparing for Steve’s visit to the newly revamped Stark Tower. There’s no point. Steve’s the kind of person who’s going to find fault no matter what.

So no, he doesn’t plan for Steve to stumble across the photo hanging in the main floor’s ‘Stark Legacy’ hallway: Howard grinning on the left, while on the right Maria holds a three-year-old Tony, who’s gazing adoringly at the smiling Peggy Carter in the middle.

“Peggy,” Steve breathes, stopping abruptly when they’re only a third of the way down the hall.

 _Oh shit,_ Tony thinks. They’re only in this hallway because it’s the most direct route to the private elevator, and it’s the only picture of Peggy on display. But of course, _of course_ Steve noticed it.

“Who’s this?” Steve asks, pointing at Maria, and Tony is oddly furious that he doesn’t know.

“My mom, Maria,” he says, somehow calm. “And me,” he adds, like the afterthought it isn’t.

Steve’s head whips around.

“You knew Peggy?”

“Only when I was little.” Tony shrugs, feigning nonchalance. He knows how much this must mean to Steve, and it’s that, more than anything, that makes him admit, “She was my godmother.”

“But you lost touch with her.” Steve is frowning. His eyes dart around to some of the other pictures lining the walls, but if he’s hoping to see Peggy in any of them, he’s disappointed.

“She and my dad had a falling out,” says Tony. “She came to the funeral, but sort of fell off the map again afterward. She didn’t like Obie. Should’ve listened to her on that one.”

“Peggy and Howard fell out? Why?” Steve sounds upset, and it occurs to Tony for the first time in years that if it hadn’t been for that plane crash, _Steve_ would have been his godfather.

If Steve had been around, Obie never would have tried to take over the company. If Steve had been around, Tony never would have been kidnapped. If Steve had been around, Tony never would have become Iron Man.

(He’s not sure how he feels about that last one.)

“I don’t know, I was young,” says Tony quickly. “Dad didn’t like to talk about it, Mom didn’t want to upset him, you know how it is. Or you don’t, I guess, but –”

“I understand, Tony,” Steve interrupts quietly. “It’s fine.”

“You!” Tony blurts out. “It was you.”

“What?” says Steve.

“You were the reason,” Tony admits. “Dad wouldn’t stop looking for you, and Peggy, I don’t know, I guess she thought it was time to move on.”

Steve looks horrified.

“He never stopped looking for you,” Tony continues. It feels important that Steve knows this. “He had a team sweeping the arctic until the day he died.”

“Why?”

Steve says it so quietly Tony almost misses it.

… and then almost dismisses it as Steve’s irritating humility.

But no, he realizes after a few seconds of Steve frowning at him, Steve genuinely doesn’t understand.

 _Because Dad didn’t like unsolved mysteries,_ he almost says, but it wasn’t that.

When Tony had been captured, he’d sometimes imagined Captain America bursting through the steel doors, pulling Tony up, looking into his eyes, and saying, “I’m here for you, Tony. You’re safe now.” A stupid little boy’s fantasy concocted from too many of Howard’s fantastic stories, and one he’s never allowed himself to think about since.

“He believed in you,” he says finally. “Or something.”

(Steve wouldn’t have let Yinsen die.)

“He flew me into German territory when I wanted to rescue Bucky’s unit,” says Steve softly. “No other pilot would risk it. They thought I didn’t have a hope.”

Howard told this story so often Tony could practically repeat it verbatim in his sleep, but it’s odd to hear it from Steve’s perspective. Steve, who chose to jump from the plane early rather than risk Howard and Peggy’s lives longer than necessary, and who talks as though Howard were the real hero.

_I know guys with none of that worth ten of you._

Fuck Howard Stark, Tony thinks. He’s dead and Tony still can’t compete with him.

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugs. “He was nuts. Everyone knew that.”

“I wish I’d known him longer,” says Steve, his eyes drifting to one of the many photos of Howard.

“He wasn’t that great.” _I wish you had too._

“What was he like?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs again.

“You tell me. He wasn’t exactly a hands-on dad,” he adds, when Steve just frowns at him.

“I don’t understand,” says Steve.

“He wasn’t really involved in my life,” Tony clarifies. “He was mostly interested in choosing my nannies and boarding schools. Get me out of the way.”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t understand: Who wouldn’t want to be involved in your life?”

Tony wants to punch him.

_You were supposed to protect me from him._

The thought catches him off guard, as unexpected as it is uncomfortable.

It’s not the first time he’s thought it. Before he met him, it was so easy to blame Steve for everything that went wrong in his childhood. Steve was the reason Peggy had to leave; Steve was the one who took his father’s attention; Steve was the one who was supposed to stop Tony’s parents from dying.

(Steve was supposed to pull him out of that cave.)

But Steve had selfishly crashed that plane. Steve had disappeared, and Howard had spiraled, and Peggy had left, and Maria had died. Steve had chosen the world over Tony, and Tony had never forgiven him for it, even as he hero-worshipped his ghost.

“You haven’t spent enough time with me,” Tony says. “Talk to Rhodey, he’ll tell you. Being in my life –”

“Tony,” says Steve quietly.

“– nightmare, trust me, you should –”

“Tony.”

“– figured out that much by now, I mean –”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve grabs him gently by the shoulders. Tony looks up into his impossibly blue eyes and says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Crashing the plane.”

Steve releases Tony and takes a step back. Tony wishes he hadn’t.

“I did what I needed to do,” he says.

“And what about the people who needed you?” Tony demands.

“Nobody needed me to do anything but crash that plane,” says Steve.

“No!” Tony snarls. “They needed _you._ Peggy was alone. Howard never recovered. Because you wouldn’t find another way.”

“There wasn’t another way.”

“Bullshit. There’s always another way.”

“You know that’s not true.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t know, maybe if I’d known…” He gestures vaguely between Tony and himself.

“I didn’t need you,” says Tony quickly.

“Okay,” says Steve, and Tony wants to punch him again.

“I didn’t,” he insists. “I became successful without you.” Why is he saying this? “Well-adjusted, even.”

Rhodey or Pepper would laugh at that, but Steve just says softly, “I believe you,” and Tony wants to do something stupid like kiss Steve or hit him or cry.

Why are they still in this stupid hallway? Why did he invite Steve here? Why did he put a memorial to Howard between him and his home?

(He knows why.)

“Yes,” says Steve.

“What?” says Tony, startled.

“Yes,” Steve repeats. “Sometimes I regret it.”

“You’re an idiot,” says Tony, and Steve laughs, surprised and a little wistful.

“So I’ve been told,” he says. “Bucky used to tell me twice a day.”

“We should get upstairs,” says Tony abruptly. He doesn’t want to hear Steve talk about Bucky.

Steve looks startled, but he just says, “Whatever you want, Tony,” and Tony has to bite back a laugh, because what he wants is to most complicated thing in the world. _Steve_ is the most complicated thing in the world, except that he’s not, except that he’s actually so beautifully simple, and it’s _Tony_ who makes him complicated, Tony who screws everything up, always.

He stands right next to Steve in the elevator, far closer than necessity requires or common courtesy allows, but Steve just lets him, and halfway up Tony almost takes his hand.

He stops himself just in time, but the back of his hand still brushes against Steve’s, and Steve’s hand twitches, fingers skittering reflexively over Tony’s. Tony hates him a little.

Steve’s floor is in the middle of the top portion of Stark Tower that Tony has reserved for the Avengers. The elevator opens onto a living room that’s large but homey, decorated in war-style simplicity. There’s a gramophone in one corner, next to a wooden rolltop desk with a typewriter, a sketchbook, and an old mug full of colored pencils. No photographs, though. Tony had been very clear on this. If Steve wants those, he’ll have to put them out himself.

“Tony, it’s beautiful,” Steve breathes as he steps off the elevator. “Is this where you live?”

“What? No, do I look like Ernest Hemingway?” says Tony.

“A little,” says Steve. Tony’s pretty sure he’s joking.

“Well I’m not and I don’t. Live here, I mean,” he says. He’s only just realized he never actually told any of the Avengers about his Avengers Tower idea. “I live on the next floor down, so, you know, no tap dancing at three in the morning or I’ll have to call the landlord.”

Steve stares at him.

“This is yours. I made it for you,” Tony clarifies finally, when it becomes clear Steve won’t dare make that connection on his own.

“I can’t take this,” says Steve, already looking longingly at the desk.

“Then it’ll just go to waste. I’m not gonna use it,” says Tony, but he suddenly realizes how this must look and rushes to add, “I’m not asking you to move in or anything, I mean you can if you want to, but no pressure. I just thought it’d be nice for everyone to have a place to – I, um, there’s a floor for everyone on the team in case we ever have to –”

“It’s perfect, Tony,” says Steve. “Thank you.”

“It was basically an afterthought,” Tony lies.

“So everything in here is mine, huh?” says Steve, moving further into the room, which Tony takes as acceptance.

“Everything you see,” he says.

“Even that?” Steve points to the one thing in the room that isn’t homey, although it is from the same era: a bright red car.

Pepper had pointed out that it was impractical to keep a working car on one of the top floors of a skyscraper when Tony had insisted on putting it here, and she’d been right –

– except not even Pepper knows what makes this car special. Nobody knows except Tony.

“Yeah, that’s yours,” says Tony, like it doesn’t even matter. “Everything on this floor is yours. You can drive, right? Doesn’t matter, I’ll teach you.” He’s rambling.

“It’s not just a display piece? Is there a… a car elevator or something?” Steve is frowning. “Or do you –” He stops abruptly, and Tony knows he’s put it together. “Is that – Tony, _is that Howard’s flying car?_ ”

“First one ever made,” Tony confirms. “Don’t worry, it works perfectly,” he adds. He’s heard the story of its unveiling at the Expo.

“Tony, no,” says Steve. He takes a step back, as though Tony will somehow be able to force it on him if he stands too close. “I can’t take this from you.”

“It’s not mine to give,” says Tony quietly. “It’s always been yours.”

“I don’t understand,” says Steve, and Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to hear that phrase come out of Steve’s mouth again without wanting to destroy something.

“Look around,” Tony snaps, more harshly than he means to. He knows he has to tell Steve to truth, and he hates it. “Dad perfected this model in 1952, so why isn’t it _Back to the Future II_ out there?”

“Back to the future? What?” Now Steve just seems confused.

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You really need to catch up on your pop culture. Forget it, the point is, cars have stayed firmly on the ground since you went into hibernation. Why?”

“I have wondered that,” Steve admits.

“Dad wouldn’t make them,” says Tony. “Not commercially, anyway, because – because he’d promised the first one to you.”

Steve’s face shifts into a soft expression Tony can’t bring himself to look at.

“Tony,” he whispers.

Tony swallows, hard. There are actually two flying cars in the world: this one, and the one Howard had driven.

He’d rarely actually flown it. Given the original prototype’s less than stellar debut, Howard’s promise of flying cars had been more or less forgotten by the time the war was over, and Howard had been careful not to refresh anyone’s memory. The working model was meant to be a surprise, a gift to the world to celebrate Steve’s safe return, so he almost always drove normally. Tony suspects now that the only reason Howard drove a flying car at all was in case of SHIELD emergencies.

After Howard had died, Tony – at the time in a nearly constant state of rage at his father, and hating everything the car represented – had donated Howard’s car to a charity auction, where it had been purchased by an anonymous patron. Tony hadn’t advertised the car’s most unique feature, however, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sell the car meant for Steve. As much as he resented it, there was something sacred about it and its secret.

As far as he knows, whoever owns Howard’s car has no idea it can fly, and Tony wants to keep that way. He already has Jarvis tracking it down. Once Tony gets it back, he’ll tune it up and give it to Pepper or Bruce, he hasn’t decided. Or maybe Romanoff. Not Rhodey, though. The last thing Tony needs is to waste a morning listening to some jackass senator whine that Tony won’t give the government flying Humvees or whatever.

Really, he realizes as he stands there, staring at the car so he won’t have to look at Steve, he hasn’t thought through giving Steve this car - or at least where the car is currently parked. The first time Steve takes it out, the whole of Manhattan is going to know Tony Stark can make flying cars and isn’t sharing the technology. Dammit, Pepper was right after all, and she hadn’t even known why.

“Tony.” Tony startles as Steve’s hand settles gently on his shoulder. “You’re drifting.”

“Sorry,” says Tony quickly, still not looking at Steve. “Sorry, I just realized –”

“Yeah, me too,” says Steve, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fly it.”

“No,” says Tony quickly. “It’s gonna get out eventually and anyway, he – he would want you to fly it.”

“Tony.”

Steve steps in front of him and places his free hand on Tony’s other shoulder, so they’re standing just like they were downstairs when Tony had asked if he regretted crashing the plane. Steve waits until Tony can’t stand it anymore and finally lets their eyes meet.

“You’re here,” says Steve quietly. “Howard’s not. I’m not going to fly the car.”

Tony nods once before forcing himself to step away from Steve’s touch.

“You should still know how it works.” He’s gone back to looking at anything but Steve. “Just in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Steve says.

Tony ignores him. Promising something is easy. Following through is another matter entirely.

“Get in,” he orders, climbing into the driver’s seat and not even looking to see if Steve will follow his example.

A moment later, the passenger door opens and Steve folds himself into the car.

“I assume this is a strictly theoretical lesson,” he says. “You’re not actually going to fly the car indoors.”

Tony laughs.

“You really don’t know me at all,” he says. “Jarvis, you ready?”

“Absolutely, sir,” says Jarvis.

Steve hits his head on the car’s ceiling.

“Are you all right, Mr. Rogers?” asks Jarvis, far more warmly than he would ever ask Tony.

“Who is that?” Steve hisses at Tony, head whipping from side to side.

“Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, sir,” Jarvis answers, because Tony is incoherent with laughter. “Informally known as Jarvis. I am here to assist you in any way you may require.”

“You’re… a computer,” says Steve slowly.

“I flatter myself I’m a bit more sophisticated than that, sir,” says Jarvis.

“ _A lot_ more sophisticated,” Tony gasps through the last few giggles. “He’s an AI. Artificial Intelligence. I created him when I was a teenager. He runs the whole building. Couldn’t function without him.”

“You barely function with me, sir,” Jarvis chimes in. Steve laughs.

“Okay,” says Tony. “Enough commentary. Jarvis, walls.”

Three clear walls lower from the ceiling, cutting the car off from the rest of the room. Then the outer wall begins to rise.

Beside him, he feels more than hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath. Unlike the rest of the tower, Steve’s floor doesn’t have floor-to-ceiling windows. It captures the 1940s feel Tony was going for, but does restrict the view. With the wall gone, Manhattan is laid out before them, bright and beautiful against the night sky.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how bright it is,” says Steve softly.

“Imagine flying through it,” says Tony, because being an asshole is kind of his thing.

“Tony,” says Steve warningly.

“Don’t twist your spandex, we won’t leave the carport,” he says. He grabs the keys from the dashboard. “Okay, so it starts like a normal car. Clutch, brake, key.”

“I know how to drive, Tony,” says Steve.

“You do?” Why is he so disappointed? “Okay, good. So you start the car” – he does – “and then – okay, look at the gear stick.”

“We’re not about to drive off the side of the building, are we?” asks Steve warily as he leans over the gear stick.

“Fingers crossed,” says Tony. “Look at the base.”

“I don’t see any –” Steve starts to say, sitting back up, but he cuts himself off because while he’s been distracted, Tony has activated the hover mode.

Steve starts laughing, a giddy, delighted laugh that’s completely at odds with Tony’s image of him, and that Tony immediately wants to draw from him again.

“He did it,” Steve mutters, shaking his head. “He actually did it. I’m in a flying… no one back home would ever believe this.” He turns to Tony. “Thank you.”

Tony grins at him.

“I didn’t know you got this happy,” he says.

Steve’s face falls slightly.

“I don’t,” he says quietly. “I mean, I haven’t. Not for a long time. Not since –”

 _You woke up,_ Tony thinks.

“– Bucky,” Steve finishes, sounding almost surprised as Tony feels. “He would have loved this.”

“If you’re this impressed hovering in a carport, your head would probably explode if we actually flew on the open road,” says Tony. “I’ll have the car sent down to street level tomorrow. We can take it out of the city and find a quiet place to fly. If you want,” he adds uncertainly. He’s faintly aware that he ruined something a moment ago, and he wants desperately to get it back.

“Yeah, maybe,” says Steve vaguely.

Tony wishes he could punch himself in the face. Why does he keep screwing this up?

Steve is quiet as Tony gently lands, cuts the engine, and orders Jarvis to return the walls to normal. As they climb out of the car, he finally says, “It’s been a long day, Tony. Do you mind if I get the rest of the tour tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s great, whatever, that’s fine,” says Tony, avoiding Steve’s eyes and doing an odd, circuitous dance toward the elevator. “Whatever you want, your call. Let me know if you want to go flying. Or not. Whatever you want.” He’s made it to the elevator, which Jarvis mercifully opens without prompting. He backs in, staring fixedly at a lamp somewhere beyond Steve’s left shoulder, and is just about to relax when Steve steps in beside him.

“What are you doing?” Tony demands.

Steve frowns at him but says patiently, “I’m going home.”

“This is your home.”

It slips out, unbidden and thoughtless and oh so honest. Steve’s arm slams against one of the elevator’s closing doors, forcing it to lurch back open. Steve’s eyes are fixed on Tony, a dozen unreadable emotions flickering across his face.

“I didn’t –” says Tony quickly, staring at the spot on Steve’s chest where the star is displayed when he’s in his uniform. “Forget it, I just – I wasn’t –” He wishes Steve would look away. “I didn’t mean – I know you don’t –” But it’s too late. He can ramble until Steve lets the elevator move and leaves Tony alone with his humiliation, but he’ll never be able to make Steve unhear what he just said. It’s out there, exposing him forever.

He wishes he still had the MARK 42. He could make a run for it, throw himself out a window, get away from Steve’s earnest eyes, become armored again in the freefall.

But the MARK 42 is gone, along with its forty-one predecessors. He has to face Steve vulnerable.

“Tony.” Steve finally interrupts Tony’s sputtering. He sounds exhausted.

“I know.” Tony forces himself to look Steve in the eye. “I know, okay, I just – I know.”

Now it’s Steve who doesn’t seem to be able to maintain eye contact. He turns his head toward the room, eyes roaming over the home Tony designed specifically for him. It’s occurring to Tony how needy that is.

“I just can’t right now,” Steve whispers. His arm drops and the door slides shut.

They don’t speak on the way down. Steve lets his head fall back against the wall and closes his eyes, and Tony knows that’s it. If Tony isn’t going to put armor between them, Steve will: an act of mercy for both of them.

When the elevator doors slide open, Steve straightens up and strides down the hallway without even looking to see if Tony will follow, but Tony does, a couple paces behind, far back to enough to see Steve pass by the photo of Peggy without a glance. Steve doesn’t stop or even slow down until he reaches the outer doors at the end of the lobby. Then he turns to Tony.

“Thanks for the tour,” he says, almost formally. He extends his hand for Tony to shake, but Tony just grips it and doesn’t let go.

“What happened upstairs –” he begins.

“I’ll call you next time I’m in town,” says Steve a bit too loudly, which makes no sense. Doesn’t he live in New York?

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.” Tony still doesn’t let go.

Steve’s eyes flicker between their joined hands and Tony’s face. He seems to be having some kind of struggle with himself.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I can’t be.” He meets Tony’s gaze and holds it, and for one last moment there’s nothing between them: no armor, no shield. Just them. “You deserve better.”

Tony’s grip goes slack in shock, and Steve is gone. Tony stands in the lobby until he hears Steve’s motorcycle roar to life. Only then does he make his way back to the elevator, determinedly not looking at the pictures of his father.

He goes back up to Steve’s floor, kills the lights, climbs in the car, and opens the outer wall again.

He stays up there until sky begins to lighten. Then he locks down Steve’s floor and goes down to his private workshop in R&D. It’s been over a year. A year with no suits. A year of designing and planning and decorating and perfecting. But that’s over now.

He has about twelve hours before Pepper gets back from California.

Plenty of time to perfect the MARK 43.


End file.
